by Olga Werby
Kyle knew these were all just rhetorical questions. The major knew the answers as well as Kyle did. For one thing, Toby was carrying top-secret BBI gear with her and inside her. For another, Will was a fugitive. The army’s interest was to be expected—and completely understandable.
Wait a second, Kyle thought. Why is Will here?
Kyle made Grock type the professor’s name on the keyboard.
The major gave Grock a guilty look—at least that’s how Kyle interpreted it. “Will came out here a week ago,” George said. “Your buddy Rider drove him. Will implanted one of the whale calves with a new device. We were hoping Toby could try it out so we could make adjustments.”
Kyle tried to process the implications. They were close—way closer than Kyle had anticipated. And Toby was here to become a whale rider.
And Kyle’s friend was here too. That was good.
Months before, George had asked Kyle for the names of men he could trust. Kyle had thought of only one: Ari Ridd. Everyone called him Rider. Kyle and Rider had flown missions together before Kyle transferred to the major’s drone unit. They’d kept in touch after Rider got wounded and left the service. Since then, Rider had been doing some corporate and personal security work, with a bit of computer hacking on the side—strictly “white hat” stuff. Kyle thought he’d be perfect as a trusted outside man. Kyle had heard that George hired him, but Rider went dark after that. Now Kyle wished he’d kept himself more in the loop.
Grock typed out “what now.”
“They can’t force Toby to work for them—” George started.
“No, they can’t,” Toby said. “I won’t do it.” But Kyle knew she would—if that’s what it took to prevent a forced separation from Cory.
“Our plan was to download the new riding code into Toby’s implant and try it out,” George said. “We need to get that code—”
Kyle missed what he said next, because Martin was shaking him to get his attention.
“What?” Kyle managed. “What do you want?”
“We lost Grock,” Martin said. “Do you know where he is?”
“Of course I do.” Kyle tried to think fast. He was obviously connected to his raven and would know his location. “I told you I’m trying to let Grock relax for a bit before resuming the search.”
“The birds have gone,” Martin said. “There are only a few left. We don’t see Grock among them.”
Kyle glanced out of the van’s window; it was getting dark. How long had he been talking with the major? He looked back at Martin, who was patiently waiting for an answer. Was he suspicious?
“Sorry, Martin. The time just got away from me. Sometimes it just—”
“Happens. I know. I told the mission commander that,” Martin said. So he was still covering for Kyle. “Riding can get overwhelming.”
“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. He needed to get back to the major. He hoped George had noticed his absence from Grock. “Let me get Grock back here,” he said to Martin. He couldn’t think of anything else.
“Sure,” Martin said. “Tell me where to send the drones to follow him back to the van.”
So they really don’t trust me. Of course, he had always been Major Watson’s man.
Kyle stretched his limbs; he was a bit stiff. “Sorry,” he said. “I must have gone too deep. I just let Grock ride me.” It was a complete lie—there was no way for animals to take over their human riders—but this Brats novice might not know that.
“Do you know where Grock is?” Martin asked. He looked concerned.
“Someplace dark,” Kyle said. He shook his head as if he were trying to reinstate his control over his raven. It was a silly performance; he hoped he wouldn’t get called on it. “I think Grock got stuck under a bench or a porch. All that fighting over food—Grock’s just not used to so much competition. Tell the drone operators to keep their distance. Grock is pretty rattled. I want him to be able to work with those guys in the future. We can’t have Grock see drones as the enemy.”
“Okay. I’ll relay your request,” Martin said. “But please get Grock back here. People are nervous. There’s still been no sign of Major Watson or Toby. Or her bird.”
“Will do,” Kyle said.
He slipped back into Grock’s attention stream.
“You’re back!” Toby said. “Grock was worried.”
Kyle didn’t know what that meant, but he let it go. He used Grock to type “what” on the keyboard. He couldn’t type a question mark, as it required pressing two keys at once. Perhaps they could develop a special keyboard for Grock? Texting for ravens—that could be useful.
“I need you to get me that code, Kyle,” the major said. “Will has it on a memory stick. Get it. Bring it. We’ll try to spend the night here. But hurry.”
Kyle must have visualized the request—Will, memory stick, return under the bleachers—because Grock understood what the major wanted and was eager to do it for him, to please both him and Toby.
Kyle made Grock hop toward the end of the bleachers. It was pretty dark outside, but Kyle wanted Grock to reappear as far away from Toby’s hiding place as possible. Given what Martin had told him, the drones were already looking for him.
At the thought of drones, Grock fluffed up and scratched the dirt nervously. Easy boy, Kyle thought at Grock. We can fool them.
He felt some of the anxiety let go of Grock’s mind—the bird trusted him.
Grock half hopped and half walked around the wall of the pool. He wanted to be out in the open, but that’s where the drones would look for him. Still, he made Grock hurry. He needed to get away from the major’s hiding place. He scanned the area. Hedges ran all over the park, acting as fences to keep the visitors away from the employee areas. If Grock could move inside them, they would provide a way to traverse the park without being seen.
Grock ran over. But unfortunately, though Grock could squeeze into the hedge, he couldn’t move around within it. As he backed out, he snagged a feather and ripped it loose.
Grock reacted in pain and agitation. Okay, buddy. Let’s find another way, Kyle thought to Grock.
“How are you doing, sir?” Martin asked.
“Grock discovered a skunk,” Kyle said.
The man laughed—good so far—and described Kyle’s predicament in far more detail than Kyle offered. “Don’t engage with it,” Martin told Kyle helpfully.
“I’m not planning to,” Kyle said. “There are also a lot of raccoons.”
“Why doesn’t Grock just fly out?”
Darn. Good question. “Working on that,” Kyle said. “I recommend we do some animal training on acclimatization when we get back to base.”
“Grock is a coward?” Martin smirked and Grock felt Kyle’s indignation. If Kyle wasn’t careful, Grock would hate Martin when he returned to the van.
“No…we’re just having a little problem,” Kyle said.
Through Grock’s eyes, Kyle spied a worker piling wetsuits, toys, and flippers into a golf cart. At his instruction, Grock jumped into the back of the cart and hid behind the wet rubber, plastic, and neoprene. The man heaped more stuff on top of Grock, then got into the cart and drove away. From Grock’s vantage point, there was no way to see which way they were moving. Kyle hoped that wherever it was, it was far enough.
When the golf cart came to a stop a few minutes later, Kyle thought to his raven: Make a big exit.
Grock burst from the golf cart, screeching as loud as he could. All of the bird’s frustration and fear came out in that one piercing cry. The cart’s driver stumbled away, startled.
“There you are!” Martin announced. “No wonder you had a hard time with Grock. He was trapped in a cart.”
Good. They’d spotted the bird. “Where exactly is Grock?” Kyle asked. He genuinely didn’t know. It was dark now and Grock couldn’t get his bearings.
“Right behind us in the parking lot, sir. I’ll get him.”
“No. Let me. Grock is freaked.”
“Do you want to stay c
onnected to him?”
“Definitely.”
Grock sat on Kyle’s shoulder. A liquid bandage covered the spot on his right wing where the feather had been pulled out. Martin held the bloody feather remnant in his surgical glove-covered hand. A drop of raven’s blood slid down between his fingers.
“Looks like it hurts,” he said sympathetically.
“It does,” Kyle said.
“Do you want something for it?” Martin asked.
Kyle knew he meant something for Kyle, not Grock. The pain between a rider and his animal was reciprocal. “No. It’s better now, thanks.”
“All right then.” Martin got his radio headband back on. “They want to know when you’ll be ready to rejoin the search, sir.”
“Grock’s not going to be much help until daybreak,” Kyle said. “But I’d like to talk with Vikka and Will. I bet they can help us locate the others.”
Martin spoke to someone in his mic, then turned back to Kyle. “They said you’re welcome to come and join them, sir. Dr. Crowe and Dr. Shapiro are just inside this building.”
“Thank you, Martin. Can you hand me the backpack? I don’t want to let go of Grock while he’s hurt.”
“You can ride and move about at the same time?” Martin said, sounding impressed.
Kyle didn’t want him to be. He wanted to keep everyone underestimating his abilities with Grock. “Not really,” he said. “I’ll just monitor Grock’s emotional state and focus on my own reality. Unless there’s something demanding, I’ll be fine. And I’m sure you’ll keep me from bumping into things.” Reel him in; make him feel needed. Pull him over to my side.
“That makes sense, sir. I’ve heard that Toby can manipulate the brain chemistry of her rides,” Martin said wistfully.
“She’s a remarkable little girl.”
“Yeah,” said Martin. “I keep forgetting she’s just a child.”
Kyle sensed Martin’s guilt, smelled it. They were all forgetting that Toby Crowe was just a kid. But Martin was a rider—which mean he also felt a strong kinship with the girl. Everyone who’d ridden one of Toby’s Brats felt the same. Kyle hoped that there were enough such individuals on this search to sway the outcome in Toby’s favor—and that the brass didn’t realize there was such a strong bond between riders. It was obvious that Martin felt a kinship to Kyle. He was covering for him.
Kyle slipped the communications pack over his shoulders and clipped it snugly over his waist and chest. Grock climbed onto Kyle’s shoulder and dug into the backpack strap, and Kyle rewarded him with a small dose of brain opioids. He felt the bird exhale; the pain in his wing seemed to melt away. It didn’t really go away, of course, the opioids just pulled Grock’s attention away from it. But it calmed Grock down and would help the raven face a room full of hostile-smelling strangers.
They marched inside. A few guards stood at both ends of the long hallway running through the middle of the building. Kyle recognized only one of them—one of the men from his van. Tom, was it? Kyle used to be good with names, but not any longer. May had mentioned something similar. She thought it was a result of riding. Rats didn’t care about names, they cared about what people were—their smell, their attitude, their true disposition.
A guard beckoned Kyle and Martin toward the room where Will and Vikka were behind held. As Kyle stepped inside, he didn’t need Grock’s senses to know that Vikka had been crying. Will was more difficult to read. He seemed exhausted, spent. And he was even more gaunt than the last time Kyle had seen him.
There were five other people in the room: two majors, one of whom Kyle had met at the base though he didn’t recall the man’s name, and three soldiers.
“Welcome, Lieutenant Davis,” said the major Kyle recognized. He was tall, completely bald, with big protruding ears. He had light brown eyes, almost yellow. Like everyone at the base, he wore a desert camouflage uniform. His name tag read “Yachi.” Right. That’s it—Major Yachi. Grock didn’t like him.
The other major wore a standard-issue uniform. He was older, in his sixties perhaps, and stared at Kyle and Grock through thick glasses. Grock liked him even less.
“We heard you ran into a bit of trouble with Grock,” Yachi said.
“New place, unusual environment, sir,” Kyle said.
“Grock got hurt during the preliminary search,” Martin said defensively. “Sir,” he added after a heartbeat.
“Is he ready now to go out and look for Major Watson and the girl?”
“I’d prefer to wait until morning,” Kyle said, “but, if need be, Grock could do it now.”
“We’re counting on him to locate the other raven.” Yachi gave Kyle a look that Grock interpreted as threatening—or at least very unfriendly.
“We can do that, sir,” Kyle said. He cleared his throat. “Sir, can I speak with Doctors Crowe and Shapiro? They were with Toby and Major Watson and were there when Cory fled. Perhaps they can give me some clues to help find them.” He felt Grock squeeze his shoulder strap tighter at the mention of Toby’s name.
“By all means,” said Major Yachi. He smiled, but it wasn’t a good smile and Grock bobbed his head in agitation. That only made the major smile even wider.
Kyle walked to the back of the room where Vikka and Will sat. He knew that everything he said would be easily overheard by the others, but it couldn’t be helped. He hoped Will understood the situation. They’d have to act as if it had been many months since they’d last seen each other.
“Hi, Grock. Hi, Kyle,” Vikka said.
Grock responded with a soft call, almost like Cory’s. The bird liked Vikka and knew that she cared about both Grock and Cory and Toby.
“Are you okay?” Kyle mouthed as he pulled up a chair to sit next to them. Vikka nodded, but Will didn’t respond. The man seemed beaten, lost. Kyle hoped he’d had the presence of mind to keep that memory stick someplace safe.
“It’s just absurd!” Vikka said. “They accused Uncle Geo of kidnapping Toby. They knew we had doctors’ appointments. And Uncle Geo just wanted to do something nice for her after all that probing and prodding. We all know how Toby loves whales, so we brought her here. Imagine our surprise when we found Will waiting for us here.”
Kyle understood what Vikka was doing. She was summarizing the official story they had told their military captors, so Kyle would know how to play along.
“And then they attacked us. Cory freaked out and flew away. They shot her, Kyle. Shot her!”
“It was a mistake,” Major Yachi said from behind Kyle. “Major Evans’s men didn’t understand.”
So the other major was Evans. The man still hadn’t said a word to Kyle.
“We believe Cory was hurt,” Vikka continued, “and if Toby was riding her at the time, then Toby’s hurt too. Uncle Geo must have taken them away to help them cope psychologically. I’m sure he’ll bring them both back as soon as they feel up to it. This whole situation is just ludicrous.”
“I’m sure Grock can find them,” Kyle said.
“Yes,” Vikka said. “I told them you and Grock could do it.”
The timeline of Vikka’s narrative didn’t add up—Kyle had left the base in Arizona long before the major had taken off with Toby. But no one was contradicting Vikka’s story or pressing her about the absurd coincidence of finding Will running an orca lab here.
Kyle looked at the professor again. The man looked drugged. He checked via Grock if the raven smelled anything unusual about the man. Grock was still a bit high on opioids, but he didn’t think Will was all right either.
Vikka’s eyes suddenly widened. “What happened to Grock? He’s hurt!”
“It’s my fault,” Kyle said. “There was a…scrum outside with some seagulls over food. I should have kept him away from it.”
“Why don’t you let the professor take a look at him?” Vikka offered. “Dr. Crowe is a veterinary surgeon, you know.”
Kyle felt that Grock wouldn’t like being examined right now and Will certainly didn’t look capab
le of doing anything useful. But there was something about the way Vikka was looking at him. Was she trying to tell him something?
“Dr. Crowe? Will?” Kyle said in a gentle voice. “Would you take a look at Grock’s wing, please? One of his long feathers got yanked out.”
Grock pulled on the hairs behind Kyle’s ear, letting Kyle know that he didn’t approve of this sudden doctor’s visit.
Sorry, buddy. Can’t be helped.
Will finally looked up. “You stopped the bleeding?” he asked.
His voice was hoarse and unnaturally high. Grock hated it. Grock was being very opinionated…and scared. Kyle also felt like he was walking on a knife’s edge—one off move, one wrong thought, and Grock would judge his loyalties suspect.
Martin, who was waiting with the other soldiers, spoke up. “I clipped off the broken feather, washed and disinfected the wound, and applied liquid skin.”
Through Grock’s eyes, Kyle saw Major Evans give Martin a look of disapproval. But Martin was obviously just trying to be helpful.
“Let me see,” Will said. He sat up a bit straighter.
Kyle bent down in front of him. Grock pushed his claws so deep into the backpack strap that Kyle could feel them through all those layers of material and padding.
“Looks painful,” Will said. “Have you administered anything for pain?”
Will knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if Kyle had been able to release Grock’s own pain-suppressing chemicals via the BBI connection. The last time Kyle and Will had worked together, Kyle was having problems with controlling brain chemicals. He had gotten a lot better since, but he wasn’t about to volunteer this information with Majors Evans and Yachi watching him.
Instead he said, “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“These injuries tend to be painful to a bird,” Will said. “You have to be more careful riding him.” He reached over to pet Grock behind the brain implant; all Brats animals liked being scratched there. Once Grock understood that Will was being kind, he let him touch him. He even let out a sound of contentment.
